A Wish for You
by AnneM.Oliver
Summary: Hermione Granger writes Muggle romance novels under a penname, with a heroine named Hannah and an evil Lord Lionel, the Earl of Malford, who has a passing resemblence to Lucius Malfoy. He wants her to stop & he's going to anything to make sure she does!
1. Chapter 1

All characters belong to JKRowling. I make no money from the writing or publishing of this story.

_*Written for Granger Enchanted's Twisted Wish Challenge 2011_

* * *

**A Wish for You**

**(Also known as The Lustful Lord of the Manor)**

**By**

**AnneM**

* * *

**Part 1 – A Wish is Just a Wish**

Crash!

Pieces of fine, 18th century crystal went flying all over the marble fireplace, as did the amber liquid that was in the expense piece of crystal.

"I can't believe this! She did it again! I thought it was over with after she wrote, _'The Wild Wicked Ways of Lord Lionel'_ but no! Now she's done it again with '_The Lustful Lord of the Manor'_! How does she keep producing all of this – this – rubbish! Will somebody get me another glass of firewhiskey?" Lucius Malfoy paced back and forth in front of a large fireplace in one of his Manor's many parlors, with a Muggle paperback book firmly in his hand.

He read another paragraph in the book, grimaced, and then kicked a century's old, vase that was to the left of the marble fireplace. "I NEED ANOTHER FIREWHISKEY!" he demanded.

His son, Draco, walked into the room with his resident smirk upon his face, laughed, and said, "I think you need to be a bit more careful with my inheritance, Father." Draco snapped at a House Elf, and said, "Get my father another drink."

The little elf handed his master a short crystal glass with gold liquid, Lucius took it, swallowed the entire contents with one swig, then threw that glass against the wall, where it landed with a crash, right next to the one he threw only moments ago. "This is drivel…its poison…its preposterous!"

"What are you talking about, Father?" Draco asked, trying hard to feign interest, as he lounged in a chair nearby, his long legs falling over the side of an arm, swinging back and forth without care.

He threw the book in his hand at his son as hard as he could. "THIS BOY!"

"HEY! That hurt," Draco said, flinching as the book rebounded off his chest and landed on the floor. Draco leaned over and picked up the book, read the title, then the author, then he laughed. "Frankly, I think I liked the title of her first book, '_The Many iniquitous Loves of Lord Lionel'. _Why do you have this, anyway? Are you broadening your mind, Father?"

His father merely stared at him, so he continued.

"So what? So she wrote another one. I told you the last time, they're Muggle novels, and no one in our world knows Hermione Granger by her literary pseudonym, Olive M. Anderson, and no one in the Muggle world knows who Lucius Malfoy is, nor do Muggles matter in the least."

Lucius continued to stalk back and forth. "Yet she continues to write about me, doesn't she! I should seek legal action!"

"The Wizengamot already decided against you father. You tried to sue her three books ago, when '_The Devil Lord and the Wrench'_, came out, and they said there was nothing to link you with those books, and you didn't have a leg to stand on," Draco reminding him, as he thumbed through the book.

"Those cretins are fools," Lucius barked. He walked over to his son, grabbed the book out of his hand, and opened it to a chapter, read, "Lord Lionel has shoulder length dark hair, as black as coal. He carries a cane with a solid gold lion's head on top of it, to hide his sword." He threw the book back toward his son. "Does that sound familiar?"

"Not particularly," his son countered while standing, carrying the book over to his father, "Since you have long blond hair, and carry a cane with a solid silver serpent head that hides your wand." He blinked and then smiled, while handing his father the book.

His father opened the paperback book and hit his son over the head with it, once…twice…three times.

"Watch the hair, Father," Draco huffed, moving quickly out of aim of fire. He patted his blond hair back into place and said, "Really, why are you so upset?"

"You'd be upset, too, Draco, if she wrote such drivel about you!" the elder Malfoy accused. He opened the book for millionth time and read, "_Lord Lionel watched the young Hannah from across the room. Her curly blonde tresses barely managed to stay atop her head. He wondered what it would feel like to run his hand through her curls. He wanted nothing more than to remove her white, virginal ball gown from her perfect body, and be the envy of every man in the room, as he took her for the first time, claiming her as his own."_

Lucius sneered, and then continued reading. "_Following her outside, though he knew it was wrong to do so, he imagined what it would feel like to take the young nymph like woman from her place by the fountain, ignore her protests, smooth his hands over her back, down the soft rounded cushion of her bottom, and then urge her legs open with one knee. Yes, the young woman would cry out in horror, afraid of losing her virginity to such a vile, reprehensible man, as Lord Lionel, the fifth Earl of Malford, but perhaps she would cry out in ecstasy as well._" He closed the book, hit it against his thigh and said, "See…totally without merit! Rubbish! Garbage! Trash! Drivel! Twaddle!"

Draco burst out laughing.

"This isn't remotely funny, Draco! I don't argue that the woman can write, because she can, but why must she write this rubbish! Why can't she write something respectable, normal, and not about me!"

"Read me some more, Daddy! Perhaps it'll help me to sleep tonight," Draco joked.

Disregarding his son's taunts, Lucius said, "Wait, there's a good part coming up," and he thumbed through a few pages, ignoring Draco's comment of, "Merlin, he has the page numbers memorized."

Lucius read, _"Coming upon the fair Hannah, once again alone, with no chaperone or companion, he decided to take his chance – strike when the iron was hot. With a swoop of his cape, he bowed low and said, 'So we meet again, Lady Hannah.' The young girl gasped and returned, 'I've been warned not to speak with you, sir.' Lord Lionel smirked, as only he could, and tapping his cane on the ground he said, 'A good thing, to, because otherwise, I might do something like this.' Suddenly, his dark hair flying behind him, he swept the young miss into his arms. Pressing her breasts against his chest, with his hands in her hair, he lowered his mouth to hers."_

Lucius closed the book and looked at his son.

Draco was actually sitting on the edge of his chair. "Then what happened?"

"What?"

"What happens next? Don't stop there. I want to know. Does he kiss her? Does he take her back to Malford Manor and have his way with her?" Draco sat back in the seat and said, "You know, the thing I don't understand is how she writes him as the star of each novel. You'd think the public would be tired of him by now."

"Why should they be tired of him?" Lucius asked, a bit perplexed, (and perhaps curious).

"It's only that she makes him the star of each novel, with Lady Hannah as the starring heroine each time, and I'd think that by now, people would be a bit over him, that's all," Draco added with a shrug. "I'd think they'd want to see Hannah with someone else, someone like say, I don't know, a werewolf or something. Werewolves are popular right now."

Lucius growled at his son and threw the paperback book at him again. Draco picked it up and asked, "What page did you leave off at, Father? I want to know what happened to Hannah. I want to know if they kissed." Nonplussed, he began to leaf through the pages.

Lucius sat in a chair opposite his son and said, "You're right for once, Draco. It is always the same characters – Lionel and Hannah, just different situations. I would think the readers _would_ tire of that after a while."

Reading and absorbed in the story, Draco nodded and said, "Different situations each time, though. Granger keeps it interesting. Makes it a murder mystery one time, a comedy the next, only thing the same is the plucky, curly blonde haired heroine, Hannah Smith, and the adversary, the dastardly Lord Lionel."

"You'd think the public would want a hero to go with her heroine, instead of an adversary!" Lucius spouted.

"Right, right, hero and heroine," Draco agreed, while still reading. Finally, he looked up and said, "But, wait, then again, that'd be rather boring, wouldn't it? That'd be rather like reading about Granger and Potter together all the time, or even worse, Granger and Weasley." Draco shivered.

Lucius openly blanched.

Draco went back to reading.

Lucius started to think. "Her character of Hannah is remarkably like Miss Granger, herself, don't you think?"

"Hmm," Draco replied, not listening.

"She's smart, rather bookish, plucky, but she made her slightly different. Different hair colour, different eye colour, but still, she does remind me of Miss Granger in many ways," he said, more to himself, which was a good thing, as his son was too absorbed in his reading.

"Hmm, hair colour," his son repeated.

"Are you listening to me?" Lucius asked, now amused.

Draco looked up. "Oh, I'm sorry, Father, I wasn't listening. What did you say?"

Lucius grinned. "You do realized that in Miss Granger's books, Lord Lionel has a grown son, almost Hannah's age, named Darin, and he's a spoiled, rotten blighter. A loser of the highest caliber. A complete and worthless oaf."

Draco said, "Yes, after writing you so accurately, I'm shocked she got the son so wrong, but there you go." He smiled at his father, who smiled in return. "Seriously, Father, what do you want me to do about this?"

"You're friendly with her now. Talk to her," his father requested.

Draco stood, tucked the book into his inner coat pocket, and said, "I'll just be taking this book with me. And as for talking to Granger, you know I would, Father, but frankly, I don't care enough. Ever since you and Mother divorced, you have too much time on your hands; evidence is the fact that you're obsessed with these books. You want her to stop writing them, you talk to her."

He cleaned up the broken glass with his wand and finished, "Anyway, I talked to her when the last book came out, and she said she had no intention of stopping. She likes writing. It makes her happy, and frankly, Father, after what that bastard Weasley put her through when he cheated on her and took all her money, she deserves some happiness, and some financial success. She enjoys writing, so leave her be. That's my advice, not that I expect you to take it."

Walking up to his father, he patted him on the chest, right over his heart, and said, "Oh, and Granger told me a little secret. She said that every woman secretly loves the bad guy. She said that Lord Lionel is very popular. Hell, she even confessed to me that she wished she had her own Lord Lionel."

Turning toward the door, he added, "And on that pleasant note, I'll bid adieu to you. This book has put me in the most amorous mood, so I'm going to go visit a certain ladylove of mine, and act out a few pages that I've marked. Goodbye, Father. Don't destroy any more heirlooms, alright?"

He left the room, only to turn back when he crossed the threshold. "Oh, Father, another word of advice."

"From you?" Lucius asked, "This should be good. Go on."

"Perhaps it's a compliment that Granger's used you to model her character after. Perhaps she has feelings for you. Likewise, perhaps she should get her wish, or something silly like that, don't you agree?" Draco winked at his father and walked down the long hallway toward the grand foyer, then out the Manor's doors.

Lucius stood in the empty room and thought about his son's suggestion. Miss Granger had told his son that she wished for her own 'Lord Lionel', and that every woman secretly 'loved' the bad guy. Perhaps she did have feelings for him. Well – if that were the case, he'd give her what she wished for, Lord Lionel himself.


	2. Chapter 2

All characters belong to JKR

**2 – Miss Hannah meets Lord Lionel**

Crumbling the crude letter into a ball in her fist, Hermione took another drink of water and then placed the plastic water bottle in the rubbish can in the corner of the bookstore's cramp, dark office along with the letter. It was from her former boyfriend, Ron Weasley. He had found out, thanks to Harry Potter that the current story she was writing, _To Love a Former Decadent Lord_, was featuring a new character based on him.

According to his hateful and threatening letter, if she published this newest book, he would not only seek a lawsuit against her, but he would also 'make her pay' in other ways. Hermione wasn't afraid of either threat. Greater men than he had tried the first avenue (lawsuit) and had lost, and as far as the 'making her pay' comment, she couldn't see how he could make her pay any more than he already had. When they broke up, he empty her bank account, stole most of the contents of HER flat, and sold unflattering pictures, as well as stories, to her nemesis, Rita Skeeter.

No, she wasn't afraid of Ron Weasley. Miffed, annoyed, anxious, perhaps, but not afraid.

The owner of the bookstore, a young Muggle woman, ran into the office and broke her from her musings when she said, "That was one of the most successful book signings we've ever had here, Miss Anderson," calling her by her pseudonym. "I thought your last book was popular, but _The Lustful Lord of the Manor_ is going to be twice as popular, I can just tell!"

Jumping up and down, the woman clasped Hermione's arm and asked, "Is there any way I can convince you to come back and do another autograph session next weekend?"

"I'm book solid for the rest of the month," Hermione answered. "And in fact, I'm due at another signing in an hour, so I must be on my way."

"Of course. I called for your driver, and he's bringing your rental car around," the woman replied, speaking of Hermione's driver and car. Hermione smiled and collected her belongings and then went to the back door of the stockroom to await the car her publisher had provided for her.

It was only five-fifteen in the afternoon, so the day was still bright, but the alleyway was dark and dingy, so Hermione waited partly inside the doorway, and partly outside. Finally, a long, black automobile pulled up to the door and stopped. Hermione placed her bag on her shoulder, turned back toward the bookstore owner, said farewell, then opened the backdoor of the car and bent her head to get in.

Everything from that moment on got a bit fuzzy.

_Actually, they got downright wonky_.

For one thing, Hermione was expecting the interior of a large limo. Instead, as soon as she entered the car, she found that she was inside a dark, plush carriage of some sort that had green velvet squabs, which she immediately sunk into, green velvet curtains drawn closed over windows, and one very large, imposing man sitting in the seat across from her.

Shaking her head, (to clear the confusion) she immediately reached back over for the door handle, but was stopped when the man opposite her placed a black, lacquer cane across the seat, over the door, blocking her escape – a black cane with a large, gold, lion-headed handle. She froze in her seat, but slowly felt for her wand, which she normally kept in her purse when she went to Muggle London.

Except…her purse was now a cloth drawn reticule. Gasping, she noticed her clothing had changed somehow as well. Before, she had on black trousers, a white blouse, and a grey sweater. Now she was wearing a light blue printed, long empire-waist dress, with a darker blue pelisse over it, and instead of carrying a briefcase in her other hand, she was now carrying a rather ugly looking bonnet of some sort.

"No, no, no, no, no," she said weakly, focusing on the imposing man in front of her. Closing her eyes, she said aloud, "I've been working too much, with too long of hours. This isn't real. I'll open my eyes and I'll be inside the back of the rental car."

When she opened her eyes she was still in the carriage, and it was moving jerkily down the road. There was still a man opposite her - a man with long dark hair, the colour of midnight and ice blue eyes that cut through her very soul. He was so handsome it astounded her. He had a dark, burgundy cape on over a super-fine black wool coat with large gold buttons, a gold silk waistcoat, black breaches, black Hessian boats, and a white, crisp cravat to top it all off.

Somehow, oddly enough, he looked remarkably like Lucius Malfoy, or in other words, like the man of her dreams, Lord Lionel, Fifth Earl of Malford, the Lustful Lord of the Manor.

Hermione screamed.

"AAHAHHAAHAHAHAA!"

"Really, my dear, Lady Hannah," Lord Lionel said with a gleam in his eye, "there's no need to scream."

Breathing heavily, Hermione tried to examine the situation. This was a dream, a nightmare, a hallucination. It wasn't real. He wasn't real. She reached over and poked him hard in the chest with her finger.

Oh, yes. He was real.

She screamed again, when she realized he was as real as she was, only louder and more frantic this time.

"AHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

Covering his ears for a moment, he lowered his cane and moved from the seat opposite her to sit next to her. "Really, my dear, there's no need to scream. I merely meant to give you a ride home. A young woman of your station shouldn't be out alone, with no companion and no chaperone. When I saw you exiting the shoppe all alone, I thought to myself, no, no, no, this would never do, so I took it upon myself to give you a ride. Most magnanimous of me, if I do say so myself." Lucius was trying to sound very much like the 'Lord Lionel' of her books, and since he had read almost all seven of them, (actually, _all seven_, several times) he was certain he had his part down pat.

"I hit my head," she finally concluded. "Either that, or someone cursed me. Or else, I fell asleep while writing again, that's it, that's what happened. I made it home from the book signing fine, and then I fell asleep, and I'm dreaming."

Lucius leaned over and pinched her arm. "Ouch! That hurt!" she barked.

She leaned over and hit him hard on his arm. He rubbed his arm where she hit him and said, "And I must say that for a delicate young lady, you hit like a man, for that also hurt."

"Why did you pinch me?" she asked, still rubbing her arm.

"You thought you were asleep. I wanted to assure you that you were not," he said smoothly.

She backed into the corner of the soft padded seat, still rubbing her arm, glaring at him wearily. "Then this is a curse."

"Really, Lady Hannah, I think you are speaking out of your head. I merely wanted to give you a ride home. There's no need to talk of curses and things." He smiled at her.

She closed her eyes and said, "Oh, if this is some evil trick of Ronald's I will kill him. He hates that I'm finding success and he told me in that dratted letter that he was going to ruin it for me, as if he hasn't already ruined enough already."

Lucius felt just a small 'pang' of remorse for his 'trick' along with curiousness and fascination at her meaning.

She rubbed her arms up and down, as she tried to figure out what to do, and then opened her eyes slowly. "May I ask a question of you?"

"Of course, my dear," he answered smoothly.

"Why do you look so much like Lucius Malfoy if you're Lord Lionel?"

"Who's Lucius Malfoy?" Lucius asked carefully.

"Never mind. I'm sure I'm having a brain embolus, or a stroke, or a total meltdown of some type." Hermione started to move the velvet curtain to the side to look outside the carriage, but Lucius reached over and took her hand away from the window.

The sudden touch of his gloved hand on her gloved hand, even silk through silk, caused both of them to flinch, and then caused her eyes to grow wide and his to narrow. She drew her hand back and placed it in her lap. He frowned and turned away from her for a brief moment, to compose himself, before he spoke. "Please, don't look outside. The sights of sounds of London are not for the eyes of one innocent as you, Lady Hannah." In addition, he didn't want her to see that they were still really in the alley behind the bookstore.

Hermione bit her bottom lip and then looked at her hands in her lap. "Lady Hannah and Lord Lionel are fictional characters. They aren't real. This isn't real. I don't know what's going on here, but I'll figure it out. I always do."

"Are you saying that I am not real, my dear?" Lucius asked, turning slightly in the seat to look at her. "Are you saying that our brief interlude in the garden at Lady MacDonald's ball the other night wasn't real? I'm sure you remember to which I refer, the incident where I almost kissed you?"

"Ah…" Hermione sucked in a deep breath. "We're in the newest book then?"

Lucius smiled at her.

"It wasn't at Lady MacDonald's ball, but at Lord and Lady Rosemount's rout, and Hannah was standing by the fountain, and you started to kiss her, when Lord Savage came by and stopped you."

"Yes, and what a pity," Lucius said dryly, pulling at his gloves.

Hermione threw her hands up in the air suddenly. "I can't believe I'm having an almost normal conversation with one of my own fictional characters, which looks exactly as I always envisioned him to look! This is beyond bizarre! This is surreal! Please, tell me you're really Lucius Malfoy, and you're just playing some sort of mean joke on me."

"Who is this Lucius Malfoy you keep referring to, Lady Hannah? Should I be jealous? Do I have a rival for your affections?" Lucius asked, with as much innocence as he could muster.

Hermione sighed, and then turning to face him slightly better, she explained, "He's the father of a boy I went to school with. You see, he's a former Death Eater..."

"What's a Death Eater?"

"Oh…" she stopped. "Hmmm, how do I explain that? Let's just say, he was once not a very nice man, but he paid his debt to society. May I continue?"

Lucius motioned for her to go on with his hand.

"The two of you are similar in that he has long blond hair, carries this black cane with a silver serpent head, and he walks around wearing the finest silk robes that galleons can buy. Also, just like you, he's supercilious, arrogant, and full of contempt, looks down his nose at everything and everyone, yet people still want to be like him. Women still think he's a heartthrob."

"Heartthrob?" Lucius was sure he didn't know that word, and he didn't know if it was good or bad.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Lord Lionel. I forget that you're from 1818 and you don't know our vernacular. That means that women think he's handsome and sexy and they want to be with him, if you understand my meaning." She shook her head knowingly and he placed a finger next to his nose, nodded once in agreement, and she said, "Exactly. The thing is he's not been a very good man in many ways. He tried to hurt my friends and me when we were nothing more than children, and more than once."

Lucius cleared his throat. "Shocking," he said without conviction.

"I know," she agreed. "And he really wasn't a good father to my friend, Draco, when he was a child. He taught him to hate and to bully and to be disdainful and to hold contempt to people who were of lower classes."

"Sounds like a terrible man," Lucius said without flare.

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "Only, no, he's not, that's the thing. He's a pureblood, you see, well no, you wouldn't see, because you're not real, and because you're a Muggle fictional character from the regency era. A pureblood is someone from my world who has their magic handed down to them. It's inherited. Oh, I'm a witch by the way, and my real name is Hermione Granger. It's nice to finally meet you, although I'm sure I'm having a delusional, fugue mental breakdown right now."

"It's charming to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger," Lucius said with a slight smile. He liked that she was going along with all of this easily, even if she did seem to 'hate' Lucius Malfoy, regardless of what his son had told him, (he made a note to flog his son at a later date).

Hermione smiled at him and said, "Where was I? Oh, yes. I'm a Muggle-born, and some purebloods, like Lucius Malfoy, hate my kind. They call us mudbloods, and they think we don't deserve our magic because we didn't inherit it, but because we were born into it, as if it weren't a birthright to us just as much as it was to them. It's so, in search of a better word, silly, and I'm tired of it."

"I see," he said softly.

"No, I'm sure you don't," she argued, "not that it matters. Lucius isn't that bad any longer, neither is his son. His son has become a good friend of mine, but Lucius still has that…well, image. A bad boy image, we call it. Women like that. He's not evil personified any longer, I mean, women wouldn't like him if he were still a man who would try to kill a child, right? But he's still has a hard edge to him, and they like that, so I modeled my character after him, and he doesn't like that, and now I guess I see why."

She hung her head and said, "I guess I've not given him much consideration. He asked me to stop writing about him two years ago and I didn't."

"What you're saying is that I'm one of your characters, and you fashioned me after this Lucius Malfoy?" Lucius clarified, wanting finally to hear her admit as much.

She nodded numbly. "Yes, yes he is. You are. Lionel, Lord Lustful, is modeled after Lucius Malfoy, and in many ways, Hannah," she motioned to herself, "is modeled after me."

"I'm not real?" he asked.

"No, I'm sorry, you're not." Hermione leaned back against the seat again and looked up at the top of the carriage. "You're nothing but a figment of my overactive imagination. Lady Hannah is modeled after me, Lord Lionel after Lucius Malfoy, and my newest character, the dimwitted, totally reprehensible, Rufus Ratzmore is modeled after my ex-boyfriend, Ronald Weasley."

"I don't know that person," Lucius lied.

"You wouldn't," she replied, her eyes back on him. "He's the new bad character in my newest book, the one I'm writing right now, and you're from the book that's just been published."

"I'm not in your newest book?" Lucius asked. He didn't know whether to be happy, relieved, or vexed by that news.

"Of course Lionel's in the book," she answered. "He's too popular to kill off, but I can't make him completely horrific anymore either. It's not expected, or wanted, by the public, or frankly, by me. He'll still be Hannah's main love interest, but Ratzmore will be the truly evil protagonist, as it should be. After all, he is in real life, so he might as well be in fiction." She began to chew on her finger. "What do I do about you, right now? You're apparently not from Ron, but still, you're not real. None of this is real, yet I'm stuck in this situation with you."

"Are you certain I'm not real?" he asked for the second time.

She placed a hand on his arm and said, "I'm sorry, but you really aren't real."

Lucius was flabbergasted. Only Hermione Granger would apologize to a fictional character who had abducted her, telling him that she was 'sorry' that he wasn't real.

"That's a shame, for an only a real person could do this," and he reached across the soft squab seating, pulled her to him, placed a hand upon her cheek, while his other hand was on her back, and he pulled her so close that she was practically on his lap. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open, in awe.

He brought his lips down upon hers so softly, swiftly, in a kiss, which true to his character was almost imaginary.

Lifting his head from hers he said, "I have kissed many women, Miss Hermione, but none whom were as sweet as you. You taste like sunshine, promises, and happiness, which I've never known. The thought of being able to kiss you more than once is unbearably arousing, yet utterly frightening just the same. Tell me; was that your first kiss?" He was quoting a line from the book, his lips touching the wisps of hair near her ear, as he inhaled her sweet scent. Moving his head a fraction of an angle to look at her better, he waited for her response.

Of course, it wasn't Hermione's first kiss, nor did she think that he thought it was. But looking up into his eyes, she finished the line she had written by saying, "Yes, and the remnants of it will be burned forever in my memory, and oh for it to be my last." And she meant every single word of it.

Suddenly, being in character no longer mattered to Lucius. He no longer cared for revenge. He no longer knew why he had started this madness, but he knew HOW he wanted to finish it. "Did you enjoy the kiss?" he asked, though it wasn't the next line of the book.

He watched Miss Granger beneath lowered lashes as she sat ramrod straight across from the seat next to him, still nibbling her bottom lip, pushing against his shoulders, trying to extricate herself from his hold, her mind buzzing with thoughts ranging from the ramifications of the kiss, to the fact that this was possibly real.

Before she could comment, he pulled her closer once more, inclined his head toward hers, and with his pulse quickening, brushed his lips softly, delicately, from her neck up to her ear, then down to her jaw, over her cheek, toward her eyes.

"You shouldn't enjoy a kiss from someone like me. I haven't changed, not really, Miss Granger. I'm still a bad man. I'm still the same man who once attacked a bunch of children on the whim of a maniacal mad man. I'm still the man who bullied his wife and son, driving his wife into the arms of another man, and who has only recently become friends with his son again. I'm still the same man who believes that purebloods deserve their magic more than Muggle-borns and half bloods. I'm not perfect, but then again, who wants perfect?"

Placing her hands against his shoulders, she made to push away from him, but he held her tight. She answered by saying, "No one wants the perfect man. If everyone wanted the perfect man, my books wouldn't sell as well."

"Exactly," he agreed. "Now, shall we end this farce once and for all, or take it to the next stage?"

She glared at him curiously. "Does this mean I'm not going mad?"

He shrugged. "Madness seems to run rampant in Muggle-borns, or so I've heard, but at the moment you seem sane."

"And you're not Lord Lionel?" she asked.

"Miss Granger," he began, taking his hand away from her back to feel her head for fever, "Lord Lionel is a fictional character." With a wave of his hand, the carriage became a large, black limousine. His black hair turned blond, his clothing changed to midnight blue robes, his cane to the familiar black cane with a serpent head. Her clothing changed back, too.

Leaning against the side of the large black, leather seat, he said, "Now, would you like to come back to my house and show me exactly why women prefer, in your words, the bad guy? Show me why Lord Lionel is so popular."

"Lucius Malfoy," she confirmed, though in a way she knew it had to have been him all along. "This was all an illusion?"

"An illusion charm, yes."

"But why?"

"I want to make your wish come true, Hermione Granger. Let me be your own, personal Lord Lionel, the Lustful Lord of the Manor."

Swallowing hard, she knocked at the window dividing the front seat from the back. The window lowered a fraction and she said to the driver, "I'm not going to the next book signing. Take me to my hotel instead."

She looked back at Lucius. He smiled and said, "Excellent decision."

"It better be," she returned, "because you have big shoes to fill as Lord Lionel, Lucius Malfoy, or should I say, large Hessian boots to fill."

At that statement, he merely smirked and said, "I think I'm up to the task."


	3. Chapter 3

All characters belong to JKR

**3 – Disinclined to Agree**

_From Last Chapter – _

"_And you're not Lord Lionel?" she asked._

"_Miss Granger," he began, taking his hand away from her back to feel her head for fever, "Lord Lionel is a fictional character." With a wave of his hand, the carriage became a large, black limousine. His black hair turned blond, his clothing changed to midnight blue robes, his cane to the familiar black cane with a serpent head. Her clothing changed back, too._

_Leaning against the side of the large black, leather seat, he said, "Now, would you like to come back to my house and show me exactly why women prefer, in your words, the bad guy? Show me why Lord Lionel is so popular."_

"_Lucius Malfoy," she confirmed, though in a way she knew it had to have been him all along. "This was all an illusion?"_

"_An illusion charm, yes."_

"_But why?"_

"_I want to make your wish come true, Hermione Granger. Let me be your own, personal Lord Lionel, the Lustful Lord of the Manor."_

_Swallowing hard, she knocked at the window dividing the front seat from the back. The window lowered a fraction and she said to the driver, "I'm not going to the next book signing. Take me to my hotel instead."_

_She looked back at Lucius. He smiled and said, "Excellent decision."_

"_It better be," she returned, "because you have big shoes to fill as Lord Lionel, Lucius Malfoy, or should I say, large Hessian boots to fill."_

_At that statement, he merely smirked and said, "I think I'm up to the task."_

The rest of the ride to her hotel was quiet. Lucius sat beside her with a smug look upon his arrogant face. It was her decision to go to her hotel, and since she was no child, she knew what was likely to happen once they got there.

She felt nervous and a bit anxious. This was still Lucius Malfoy! He was the man to whom she modeled all her lead male characters after, because she found him so terribly attractive. She always had and she always would. Still, just because he appeared to her using such extreme tactics didn't mean she was going to stop writing about Lord Lionel and Lady Hannah!

The scoundrel. He was going to try to have sex with her to force her to stop writing her books! She just knew it! He had tried everything else to get her to stop writing them in the past – he had tried to sue her, he had sent Draco to talk to her, he had written her threatening letters, and now this! She glanced over at him quickly. Was he really going to use sex to make her stop writing?

"Lucius?"

"Yes, my dear," he said with a silky smoothness that made her heart swoon.

"Are you trying to seduce me to prove a point that you're not a nice man, or to try to get me to stop writing about you, or because you want me?"

He didn't hesitate before he said, "All of the above."

That was the wrong answer. Hermione turned her head to look out the window. "I like writing you know."

"Why?" He settled back in to the corner of the large limo seat and turned his whole body toward hers.

Facing him, she answered, "I come alive through my characters. I can make them do and be anything I want them to do or be. I can make them happy, sad, rich, or poor. They don't have to worry about how to pay their bills, or if their ex-boyfriend stole all their money, or if he's selling manufactured stories about them to the rag papers. And the best part is, my characters always have a happy ending. I'm not giving up writing."

"But you will give up Lord Lionel." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact. That was his entire intention in coming to her today. If he could get her to sleep with him, all the better, but his true objective was to stop her from writing Lord Lionel, aka: Lucius Malfoy.

"I won't," she argued. "He's my most popular character, and if I kill him off, no one will read my books again. I tried to give him a minor role in _An Invitation to a Sinful Wedding_ and no one read that book. It hardly sold, because it didn't have Hannah and Lord Lionel as main characters. No, I'm sorry, Lucius, but they'll stay as major characters in my stories whether you like it or not."

The limo pulled up under the portico to a swanky, uptown hotel. Before Hermione could get out of the car, Lucius took a hold of her wrist. "This isn't over, Miss Granger. Fun and games aside, you will stop writing about Lord Lionel."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, pulled her wrist from his grasp and said, "Apparently you don't know me very well, Lucius. I'm not afraid of you and I certainly don't take orders from the likes of you."

She quickly got out before Lucius did. Making her way through the doors, then hastily through the lobby, she meant to leave him behind. Lucius smiled. She was mistaken in that thought.

He followed her slowly, watching as she practically ran to the lifts. Reaching the lifts just after she did, he placed the tip of his cane in the doors to stop them so he could enter. She groaned when she saw him.

"Go away."

"You didn't want me to go away a moment ago. You invited me to your hotel, if I remember correctly," he countered.

A little old woman, standing between them, looked from Lucius to Hermione. Blushing scarlet, Hermione seethed, "That's when I thought you were Lord Lionel…I mean…you know what I mean. That's when I thought your intentions were different. Now I know you only wish for me to stop writing my books."

Lucius leaned up against the wall of the lift as it moved upwards, arms crossed in front of him. "Believe me, Miss Granger, I want much more than that. I wouldn't have gone to all of the trouble I went to if I merely wanted you to stop writing Lord Lionel. I want you. That thought surprises me as much as it probably does you. And you want me just as much as I want you, perhaps more, or you wouldn't write about me, and you certainly wouldn't have invited me up to your room."

The little woman between them let out a titter of laughter. Hermione stared at Lucius, then the woman, and then back to Lucius. "Stop saying such things. And how do you know I didn't invite you up to my room for tea?"

"Tea?" he snorted.

"Yes, tea!" she responded.

"Does Lady Hannah give Lord Lionel tea?" Lucius asked, giving her a seductive glare. "I told you I wanted to make your wish come true. I wanted to give you your own Lord Lionel. I wanted you to show me why every woman, in your words, loves 'the bad guy'. I hardly think they love him for the way he drinks his tea."

Suddenly, the woman between them gasped. Pointing at Hermione she said, "You're the woman who writes all the Lord Lionel books!"

Hermione nodded, then slumped against the wall of the lift, even as it stopped.

The woman then turned to Lucius. "The hair's the wrong shade, but…but…no…it can't be. But, I swear, you're just as I imagine him." She looked back at Hermione. "Is he Lord Lionel?"

Hermione stomped her foot. "Lord Lionel is a figment of my imagination and I'm not going to stop writing about him!"

"Heavens, I hope not," the woman returned. "Reading about Lord Lionel and Lady Hannah got me through a very rough patch last year. My husband of thirty years died of a sudden heart attack, and that was right after he saw me through an extended illness of breast cancer. Your books got me through that time, even though some people think of them as nothing more than drivel and smut."

"Drivel!" Hermione huffed.

"Smut!" Lucius barked.

"Well, excuse me, but yes, even though some think of them as that, to me, they were a means of escape. They gave me comfort when I was so sick from my chemo that I couldn't lift my head from my pillow. My husband would read Lord Lionel's lines to me and it would brighten my days. Then, when he died, I would read the books again, and it made me remember him. Please, don't ever stop writing! Don't stop writing Lord Lionel and Lady Hannah. I beg of you! They're true friends of mine, even if they aren't real. They gave me a lifeline when I needed one, and if you stop writing them, I don't know what I'll do."

After the woman's speech, Hermione couldn't speak. All she could do was hug the woman tight, kiss her cheek, and then smile at her. Then she ran out of the lift toward her hotel room.

Lucius remained on the lift a moment longer and promised, "She won't stop writing them. I promise."

The woman gave Lucius a gracious grin full of gratitude, took his hand, shook it, and said, "Thank you. And for the record, I think you're ten times more handsome than I ever imagined Lord Lionel to be. I think she should change his hair from black to blond."

"I agree, on all accounts," Lucius confirmed with a nod of his head. Withdrawing his hand from the woman's hand, he exited the elevator and went down the hall. He didn't know which room was Hermione's room, but a simple locating spell showed him it was the last room at the end of the hall.

Walking toward it slowly, he approached the door, and then knocked.

"Who is it?"

"You know who it is. Open the door please. We need to have a serious discussion about your books, Miss Granger." Placing both hands on the smooth wood of the door, he waited what felt like an eternity for her to open the damn door.

When she did, he wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him. In place of the proper Muggle business clothing she had worn earlier, she was now wearing a regency style dress of a deep a scarlet crimson. Her hair was swept upwards, though a few of her warm, brown curls were hanging loosely upon her shoulders, and against her creamy white neck.

"Lord Lionel," she said, "I don't think it's proper for you to come to my room like this."

He smiled slowly. "Ah, but Lady Hannah," he began, reaching out for one of her curls, "whoever said I was proper?" Breaking character for a moment he said, "I though Hannah had blond hair and Lionel had the dark tresses?"

"We make due with what we have, Lucius," she smiled. She reached for his arm and pulled him inside her room. She closed the door, turned to him and said, "Before we go any further, we must talk about my books. I hope you see now why I can't stop writing them. It's not only for me that I write them, but for people like that woman back on the lifts."

"I think I see things clearly for the first time, Miss Granger. However, I still must insist on some changes."

Her eyes narrowed. "Didn't you hear that woman! Haven't you heard anything I've had to say? More to the point, why does it matter to you? No one knows that I based the character on you anyway!" As soon as she said it, she gasped and placed her hand over her mouth.

"AH HA!" He pointed at her. "You just admitted it! The character is based on me, which means I have every right to either insist you stop writing him, or insist you change him, or at least get a share of the profits!"

Thrusting out her chin in defiance, she said, "I won't agree to any of those terms and you can't make me! Our court system already sided with me, and I rather doubt you're going to sue me in Muggle court! That leaves you with no other recourse!"

He walked around her and said, "Fine. You have a point. I'll give up on the whole thing if you'll admit one other thing. You've already admitted to basing the character on me, which I already knew, so that's no real revelation. I want to know why. And don't just say it's because every woman loves the bad man. Don't say every woman wants her own Lord Lionel. Why me specifically?"

She began to back away from him. "Well…I…well…"

"Yes?" he asked with a lascivious grin.

"You tell me why you care so much first!" She poked him in the chest with her finger. "Why do you care _why_ I modeled him after you?"

"I want to hear you say that you lust after the Lustful Lord of the real Manor, that's all. There's nothing more to it." He grabbed her finger in his hand and edged closer to her.

"I'm disinclined to believe you," she said quietly.

They stared at each other, standing close enough to the other that their breath all but mingled. Finally, he said, "You admit to lusting after me, and I'll admit to having a mild infatuation for you."

"Mild?"

"Almost nonexistent."

"No," she answered.

"That's my answer as well," he replied. She turned, which was hard because he was so very close, and tried to open the door, but he wouldn't allow it. He turned her back around and said, "Where are you going?"

"I'm opening the door for you to leave. There's no reason for you to stay."

Smirking, he mocked her by saying, "I'm disinclined to agree with you." Then he angled his face toward hers and kissed her, trapping her against the door. His mouth moved against hers in a series of delicate moves, which offered her little hope of resisting his charms. He let his mouth drift down to her neck, then down to the bodice of her gown, over the swells of her breasts, where his tongue traced the curves around the top of her gown. She moaned and he sighed.

His hand slid inside her gown, pushing the material to the side so he could feel the fullness of her breast. "Admit you want me, not Lord Lionel, but me," he said, staring right in her eyes, as his fingers rolled her nipple into a tight bud.

Biting her lip, her hands on his shoulders, she said breathlessly, "Tell - tell me, tell me why it matters to you what I feel for you first." Her head rolled to one side.

He pushed her gown off her shoulders, untied the back, and watched with extreme interest as it pooled at her waist. "I have nothing to say. Nothing's important to me. I merely want to hear you admit that you lust for me, Miss Granger." He dipped his head and licked the line between her breasts, then kissed around one full globe, before sucking deeply on one rosy tip.

She rose up on her toes, grasped his shoulders harder and said, "If you have nothing to say, then neither do I. Lord Lionel is a mere fictional character, and I don't care…care…for you one whit, oh yes, that's nice." He was sucking so hard and avariciously that she could barely speak or stand.

He came back up to her mouth for another firm, possessive kiss, while his hands fondled her breasts and belly. Pushing her dress to the floor, he was thankful that she hadn't gotten too far into her 'period costume' – for she was naked under her scarlet dress. The thought of it nearly drove his blood to a boiling point.

"I want to spend the night with you," he finally admitted, his hand between her legs, "but only if you admit you lust after me."

She was kissing the side of his neck, pushing his robes to the floor, unbuttoning his trousers. "You know I won't," she managed to say. "Not if you won't."

"Hell woman," he choked, stepping out of his trousers, and picking her up, heading for the bed, "I don't even know what the bloody hell we're arguing about anymore. I admit I want you, there, are you happy?"

He tossed her on the bed.

"And I admit I want you," she rasped, reaching up one arm to him.

He finished undressing, joined her on top of the bed, and ran a hand down the long length of her body. "I think we have a start of a new book here, Hermione," he said with a smile, "Where they have sex in the beginning of the book, instead of the end. And I also say that from now on, I think we should act out all the sex scenes in advance, to make sure they're accurate."

"Randy bugger," she laughed.

"At your service," he obliged, pressing her to her back.

He grabbed her hands with one of his, placed his mouth back to her breasts, and began to tongue and kiss her nipples. His other hand tormented her between her thighs, teasing her, arousing her, bring her close, until she writhed and moved beneath him.

Kissing her again, he thrust into her slow and hard, a moan of pleasure ripping from his lips. Again and again, he gave and she returned until they were both thoroughly and utterly spent and depleted.

Rolling to his side, he pulled her up against him and said, ''You're mine, now. You belong to me and no one else."

"That sounds like some line from a regency romance novel," Hermione returned.

He exhaled a breath, kissed the top of her head and said, "Shut the hell up, Miss Granger."

"Yes, Lord Lionel," she said with a laugh.

THE END


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